


Casualties

by Shampain



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Casual Sex, M/M, Spy!hux, which becomes decidedly less casual with each passing moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:49:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28946175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shampain/pseuds/Shampain
Summary: It's finally happened: the war is over, the Final Order's navy has fallen, and the Resistance throws itself into madcap festivities as only a struggling, victorious army can. Poe figures his own celebrations will be rather muted in comparison - until he finds a willing partner in Hux.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Armitage Hux
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43
Collections: Hoelidays Gift Exchange 2021





	Casualties

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kairiSparda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kairiSparda/gifts).



He knew he was tired but he couldn't feel it, not entirely. His mind and senses were already preoccupied with the enormity of the moment, the collective experience of joy that had begun the moment ships began to return to Ajan Kloss, limping in like wounded war dogs. This was a time of celebration, of tumultuous feelings they were all familiar with but had not had the opportunity or occasion to feel in so long: hope, relief, joy, grief. So while he could not remember the last time he had slept, it did not seem particularly important to him.

He forgot about Hux, too, at least for the first couple of hours. It seemed like the last time Poe had seen him had been years ago, though that was nowhere near true – it had been less than a day since Poe had sent Lando and Chewie out to call for help, and therefore less than a day since Poe had told them to take Hux with them.

Poe had made the order and Hux, having switched his allegiances, had no choice but to obey. He did, however, voice his displeasure. “I’d be more useful here,” Hux had pointed out, which was true in theory: despite the fact he was technically an addict in the throes of withdrawal, he outstripped most members of the Resistance in terms of training, experience and education in military tactics.

Perhaps he hadn’t been thrilled with the idea of spending his last hours alive under wookiee guard – Hux’s opinion of their fight against the Final Order, when he let it be known, was incredibly fatalistic – or maybe he was just disappointed to be left out of the initial attack, as if his disillusionment with the Order had given him a thirst for a fight. In either case, Poe’s decision was firm, and inarguable.

“You’re a liability around everyone here,” he’d said, frankly. “Not a single person in the Resistance is going to let you fight with them, let alone cover their back. Go with the _Falcon_ , see how you can help there, and we’ll all be better off.”

“You mean have two of the New Republic's most decorated war heroes baby sit me?”

That had more or less been the idea, though there had been the possibility that maybe when he wasn't peddling First Order doctrines Hux could actually have something useful to say to the civilians. Poe had yet to find out if that had been the case.

Poe went searching for him now, or at least for any other of the usual occupants of the _Falcon_. He knew there was no point in tracking down Finn or Rey; he remembered with a pang the way they had slipped away from everyone else as soon as they had the opportunity. But he wanted to see if he could track down anyone else, Hux included.

It was slow going, because everywhere he went he was greeted and embraced and celebrated. Most of the civilian army had left and gone back home, but the Resistance, as bedraggled as it was, had thrown itself into the celebrations on Ajan Kloss along with anyone else who cared to join them. Poe was starting to realize, as each interaction went by, that while he had always enjoyed a certain amount of infamy it would soon change into something else entirely. He wondered if he would be ready for it.

He found Hux out in the open but on the edge of the festivities, watching from a safe distance. While he knew that the _Falcon_ had seen its fair share of the action once it had arrived with the civilian army, he saw the evidence of it on Hux. He had a nasty bruise and cut on his chin, and his lip had been split at some point. But while he was in complete disarray, from the feathery fall of his hair to the torn, battered clothing, he stood so still he radiated, if not serenity, then a deep composure of some kind.

It was strange, but Poe had never realized how _tall_ Hux was until he'd helped them escape the _Steadfast_. He’d always assumed it was all a trick of perspective and styling and that the other General was just a mere slip of a thing, but the truth was more satisfying than that. Hux was not a bulky person but elegant and streamlined; and he radiated power in each of his movements, like his control was a function of his very being.

As a result it had been absolutely flabbergasting to find out that the man wasn't _vibrating_ from the amount of stims he had apparently been taking.

Poe was no stranger to such things, though he was more experienced in the spice trade and those related sins than anything else. But stims, depending on the type, could do anything from heal a broken bone to help someone recover from dehydration or unconsciousness. Good ones, with the right balance of nutrients and drugs, could make it so that you didn't need as much sleep anymore – or ever.

Apparently, Hux had stopped sleeping shortly after Poe blew up Starkiller Base. Such heavy stim use meant that as soon as Hux fell out of sync with his dosage it was a very, very steep fall.

“Good, you haven't been assassinated yet,” Poe said cheerfully, by way of greeting.

The other man didn't move, didn't seem to react to Poe's presence in any way besides answering. “ _Yet_ ,” Hux said, as Poe came to stand beside him.

He grinned. “How's the withdrawal?”

Hux glanced aside at him, as if checking to see whether he was being mocked. “Fine.”

On the flight from the _Steadfast_ back to Ajan Kloss – while Rey and Finn and Chewie were all arguing with each other over having Hux with them in the first place, not that it mattered, since Poe had promised to help and Poe's word was law – Poe had watched as Hux took a hypospray out of his pocket and jammed it into his thigh. “What the Hell was that?” he'd asked, sharply.

The real kicker was that Hux just flat out _told_ him, as if it was nothing important. “That was the last of it,” he said. “I'm soon to be more trouble than I'm worth, Commander Dameron.”

Since that final dose had worn off Hux had gone through a mixed bag of reactions and symptoms, from sleeplessness to sweats to dehydration. The most long-lasting were the headaches, which made him (if possible) even more short-tempered than was probably usual. Poe had given him several doses of an oral stimulant to at least ward off some of his pain, but it was obvious he was suffering as his body remembered how to operate without the stims to keep it going.

There was no point in offering him the stim packs they had on hand; besides being for emergency use only, Poe doubted they'd have done him much good anyway, and Finn confirmed that in private. “I guarantee whatever we've got is nothing compared to what he had access to with the First Order,” Finn said. “They probably mixed his up by request.”

“That's what I thought,” Poe said, grimly. While they were waist deep in war, there were still things he had to focus on – like whether his new recruit was going to be more of a liability than an asset. “Think he'll get any worse?”

“Hard to say.”

Still, Hux didn't complain, so it was difficult to see if he was improving or not. He drank a massive amount of caf, though, the stronger the better, and he was excessively difficult to talk to. Still, he behaved as best he could, Poe saw. It was what he had asked for when he told them he could get them all off the _Steadfast_ – if not acceptance from the Resistance, then at least what it could offer in terms of protection – and Poe knew that the last thing he was going to do was bitch and moan over something he knew was coming. 

Poe dug through his pockets, pulling out a small, battered tin, which he held out to Hux. “Bacta paste,” he said, nodding to Hux's injuries.

Hux wordlessly took it, prying the lid off and swiping up a small amount on his fingertip. They had fallen into an unusually calm, respectful banter shortly after escaping the _Steadfast_ , something Poe was still marvelling at. He had expected their interactions to be strained and tense, but instead Poe seemed to be the only person Hux really bothered with – knowing, of course, that as the acting General Poe was the most obvious person whose command Hux would recognize. Yet, while Poe was not wholly surprised by Hux's respect when he thought about it, he was surprised that he found himself returning it without a moment's thought.

He wanted to dislike Hux, he _knew_ he should dislike Hux, and yet he was completely incapable of disliking Hux. It should have been infuriating, but instead he found himself more and more curious about him. He had read the man's file many times, but it was a puzzle to apply the frame those facts cast against the figure of Armitage Hux himself.

Hux swiped some of the paste over the curve of his bottom lip, probing gently at where it had split. Poe pulled his gaze away before he was caught staring. The First Order had done its best to style Hux as powerful and intimidating in all of its propaganda holos, yet it had not been completely successful in hiding the man's beauty. There was only so much they could have done.

“Shouldn't you have a guard?” Poe asked, glancing around. He noticed a young soldier a few metres away, looking annoyed and bored, and did his best to suppress his laugh.

“You can go,” he said, pitching his voice authoritatively over to the guard. “I've got this.”

After they had been left alone, they watched a group of young women rambling by, flushed with drinking and victory and laughing with each other. None of them were older than twenty, Poe observed. It made his heart twinge, slightly; but it would be okay. It was all over, now. It _had_ to be over; the hard part, anyway.

Hux dabbed the bacta against his chin, mouth tightening for a moment in pain. “What are you thinking about?” he asked, as if in their shared silence he could sense the doubt Poe was feeling. Maybe he did.

Poe rubbed tiredly at the back of his neck. It ached from the tension and action of battle. “I'm thinking about what might come next,” he said, not bothering to lie.

Hux didn't say anything at first. He gazed ahead of them both, as if their surroundings were nothing more than an interesting holo. “Yes,” he said, and Poe felt _seen_.

“Also,” Poe said, feeling that inner tug of mischief that always had him pushing the envelope, just a little. “Sex.”

Hux let out a surprised little bark of laughter, so sudden that Poe was treated to watching Hux press the back of his hand quickly against his mouth to contain himself. “You are _textbook_ ,” he said once he had recovered, with a little sneer that was somehow also _fond_. Perhaps Hux enjoyed being rubbed the wrong way.

The laughter had brought a brightness to his eyes that was... very, very pleasing to look at. Rey and Finn preferred each others' company and Zorii had turned him down; but maybe his evening wasn't completely waylaid just yet. “Well?” Poe prodded. They had all gone through so much; there was at times an instinctive reaction, when you were around so much death, that certain other things became more and more important. “Aren't you?”

Hux glanced down at him while Poe grinned insolently up. They could tell the truth with each other, after all. One General to another.

While Poe would not have been surprised to see his night ending, or beginning, in this way – bringing someone back to his quarters, having a drink, and basking in the celebrations – he would never have guessed that it might have been with Hux.

A half-full bottle of whisky dangling loosely from his hand – apparently he'd conned it off of Chewie somehow – he inspected Poe's living space. Someone like Hux would be able to pick up the details there and apply them, and it made Poe feel noticed in a strange but endurable way, like he was allowing someone to spy on him.

Poe's place was one of the few private quarters on Ajan Kloss, afforded to him because even before he was General he had been Leia's Second. But in a base as last minute as theirs, you had to choose between space and privacy sometimes. Poe had picked the latter.

“I'm sure it doesn't live up to the standards of the First Order,” Poe said, closing the door behind them.

Hux shot him an amused look that confirmed Poe's suspicions. “It doesn't,” he said. “But it's cool in here, at least.”

It was; the climate control was on a timer, and Poe certainly hadn't been in any state of mind to turn it off before he went dashing to Exegol. That meant that, in late afternoon, the cold air was blowing strong. He watched as Hux, one-handed, loosened the top buttons of his shirt, flexed his neck and shoulders as if trying to work off the heat of the jungle. Poe felt something in himself tighten.

Hux had turned and was looking at him, holding the bottle up. “Glasses?”

Yes, of course. Glasses.

Poe motioned for Hux to seat himself on the couch as he walked past, heading for the small kitchen area and taking down the glasses. Poe's place was somewhere for many of the upper officers to mingle on the quieter nights, so he had more glassware than he really needed. The gatherings helped maintain camaraderie but enforced structure. Also, sometimes Poe just needed other people around to get out of his own head.

He brought glasses and also a dampened wash cloth, which Hux took with more pleased surprise than he had the bacta. “Thank you,” he said, bathing the dried blood from his face with relief while Poe filled their glasses.

After clinking their glasses wordlessly, Poe took a sip and felt his entire face grow warm. “ _Wow_ , that's strong,” he said, reaching for the bottle on the side table to inspect the label.

“I know.” Hux's expression was flat, but he sounded amused. “They should use it to clean the _Falcon_. If they ever decide to do such a thing.”

“Don't say that in front of Chewie. I hear he's thrown you once already.” Chewie had roared it as a threat at Hux once, in the middle of an argument, and the mental image had been so funny Poe had been unable to shake it from his mind.

“Oh, that was just because he ran out of ammunition.”

Poe looked aside at Hux for a moment, taking him in; and then noticing, with a start, a slight curve at the corner of the other man's mouth. Hux was making a goddamn joke.

“What is it, Dameron?” Hux asked, noticing the stare.

“I didn't think you'd have a sense of humour,” Poe remarked. “I mean. You seemed pretty peeved at _Hugs_.”

“Oh, yes, that is because I am the only person in the world who doesn't respond positively to being mocked,” Hux said, before taking a generous mouthful of the whisky that would have had Poe sputtering, but seemed to Hux to be as innocuous as water.

He recognized what Hux was doing. Sometimes the only thing you could do was be yourself around a stranger, as best you could – even if you were still half hidden, for your own safety. And sometimes, when you were someone like them – constantly surrounded by others, but alone in your responsibilities and your thoughts – it helped to have that stranger be someone who was honour-bound to bear witness without judgement.

Poe shifted himself closer, and Hux tipped his head to the side, slightly, watching him in silent interest. Hux smelled like sweat and smoke but his gaze was so cool and composed; he reminded Poe of a blaster that had recently been fired.

Lust warred with curiosity; Poe wasn't sure which to sate first. There was an aura to Hux which hinted at something rather dangerous and feral beneath. Finn swore he must have had a Ren-induced psychotic break to explain it, but Poe suspected something worse: that not only had Hux's patience snapped but his very ideals had been upended. Ideals were important when you were young and in command: without them the very nature of your responsibilities could fall apart. Which, Poe supposed, is exactly what had happened with Hux.

Moving slow, he placed a hand on Hux's knee, slid it up along his thigh. They both watched its movement, and Hux shifted, so slightly it was nearly imperceptible. But when their eyes met, Poe saw only an invitation.

“You know, you can call me Poe,” he said, softly. “When we're alone.”

Hux was looking at him carefully, and it took Poe a moment to realize that the man possibly wasn't even paying attention. “You really are beautiful,” he commented, suddenly. “I thought it was a trick of the holos. It's not.”

Poe was used to being complimented and most times he barely noticed, yet the way Hux said it – so intense, so insistently _focused_ – that Poe felt, for the first time in a long time, the creep of a blush on his cheeks. Hux dipped his head down towards him, closing the distance, hesitant – his lips had parted slightly, as if he wasn't sure whether to speak or to kiss. Poe made the decision for him, leaning in to press his mouth carefully against Hux's.

The bacta had not only healed the cut but had softened Hux's lips. Poe tasted it, the bacta and the whisky, and as the kiss deepened – as Hux opened up for him because of course, _of course_ with a man composed of so many hard angles it was this, his mouth, that became so soft and pliant – Poe tasted something deeper.

They shifted closer to one another, slowly, magnetically. Poe kept his hand on Hux's thigh, fingers curled along the inside of his leg, nails scratching at the inner seam of his pants. Hux angled his head to the side and pushed close, mouth opening almost desperately, and Poe took everything that the other man was offering up to him. Everything Hux had, Poe wanted.

When they stopped to catch their breath, Hux's hitching just slightly, Poe pressed their foreheads together. There was a sensation blooming in his chest and climbing up his throat, a strange mixture of happiness and lust and anxiety. It was just one among many waves of emotion he had been feeling since he touched down on Ajan Kloss that day, knowing he had made it out alive. What did it mean that he was fine with sharing it and himself with Hux, a man who had caused so much pain? As casual as Poe could be about sex, this still felt different. He wondered if Hux felt it too or if he was exactly as he seemed to be at that moment – a man who had turned traitor now taking whatever moments of pleasure he could find in a world he did not feel at home in.

He found himself slipping his hand into Hux's hair, curiously, nails finding the curve of his skull, and Hux tipped his head into the touch, eyes half-closed, watching Poe with a lazy but also intense interest. His hair was fine and soft at the ends, his roots thick with dried sweat, just like Poe's own. He smoothed his touch down over the back of Hux's skull, to his upper neck, scratched gently at the skin there and felt more than saw the other man shiver.

Two patches of colour were beginning to show, high on Hux's cheekbones, but they were nothing compared to the flush of his lips. In that moment Poe wanted many things, but he was more curious about Hux, about what _he_ wanted.

He thought of just _asking_ him, but at that moment Hux moved, dislodging Poe's hand – only so that he could climb right up into Poe's lap, pushing him back against the couch. Each movement was thrillingly competent, from the way Hux settled in close, knees on either side of Poe's hips, to framing Poe's face with his hands as he dipped down for another kiss.

Hux's entire body seemed to shift and flex against him as they kissed; Poe's hands found and gripped at the back of the other man's thighs, feeling the muscles through the fabric as they lost themselves in the give and take. While before Hux seemed more than happy to let Poe take control, there was something utterly _hungry_ about him now as he licked into Poe's mouth, nipped at the edge of his lips.

Poe moaned against Hux's mouth, and without thinking he placed both hands to the other man's lower back, pressing him down and against him. Hux let out a surprised, breathy noise, breaking the kiss as he jerked his hips forward, rutting himself against Poe's stomach.

Poe dropped his head back against the couch, watching in open-mouthed appreciation as Hux shifted his hips against him again, Poe's hands on his back helping guide his movements. The composure that seemed to always be present in Hux's expression was slowly draining away, replaced with a flushed, almost mindless enjoyment. Their eyes met and for a moment Poe thought he saw a twinge of shame, but it was gone so fast he couldn't be sure.

“Hux,” he said, his voice sounding thick and weak to his own ears.

Hux stopped what he was doing, leaning up against Poe. Their mouths brushed together, for a moment. “Dameron?”

“I _need_ to fuck you.”

Hux licked at the corner of Poe's mouth. “Good.”

Later they were stumbling into the bedroom and down onto the bed, wrestling with each others' clothing, recoiling and hissing in pain when an injury was jogged. “Shit, sorry,” Poe muttered when, in divesting Hux of his shirt, he pushed his hand down hard on the other man's ribcage – the skin already peppered and blurring with shades of blue and purple.

“It's fine,” Hux had breathed, dragging Poe down on top of him. His own touch danced over the spots on Poe's shoulders and chest that had been chafed and bruised by the security harness in his X-wing. Even though parts of him were forceful and abrupt – Poe had never experienced someone undoing his belt with as much speed and confidence as Hux showed – his touch would at the last second turn away, light and gentle, almost maddeningly so. But then Hux dug his teeth into Poe's shoulder right where it met the side of his neck, and Poe felt a jump in his heartbeat and a throb in his cock, and all thoughts that he might have to be gentle with Hux flew out the window.

To have Hux there in his bed – to be stripping each other down so abruptly and so thoroughly – Poe's blood was singing in his veins even as his heart clenched. He wasn't sure what he was doing in the grand scheme of things but he did know he wanted this, this man who somehow understood him even though they had been born and raised and had lived in completely different worlds, two sides of the same coin. He did not know the particulars of why Hux had defected – he only knew Hux had decided that with Kylo Ren in power there was nowhere for the Order to go but down – but at that moment it did not matter. All that mattered was the way Hux was touching him, and kissing him, and the way Hux moaned and gasped and came _alive_ beneath him.

There was a moment, when Poe was deep inside of him, that Hux cursed – _fuck_ – soft and drawn out and breathless. There was a moment when Poe thought he was losing his sanity, because that single word resonated with so much feeling, and it was exactly how Poe felt right then – a desperate mindlessness, a furious attempt to lose himself in pleasure.

Poe kissed Hux's throat. He smelt of wreckage but he tasted of salt, pure and sharp. He was somehow grounding even while Poe felt like his mind was collapsing under the strain of everything that had happened, and from the enormity of what possibly would – could – come next.

Sometime later, Poe realized he had allowed himself to drift off a little. He opened his eyes and saw himself looking at Hux's bare back, the bones of his shoulder blades severe in the shadowy half-light. Poe shifted, running a fingertip gently down the valley of the other man's spine, and watched him shiver.

“You awake?” he asked. He knew he was.

“Of course I'm awake,” Hux replied. “How can anyone sleep during this racket?”

Poe knew what he meant; the sounds of the celebration were still raging strong in the background despite the relative privacy of his quarters. Night had fallen but floodlights had been activated and fires had been lit, judging from the aura along the edges of the curtained windows. The bedroom itself was quite dark; they hadn't bothered with the lights in their earlier rush.

“Can you get the light?” Poe asked.

Wordlessly, Hux reached out, switching the lamp on. The bulb was not the best, but its dim yellow glow cast some warmth into the small room.

Hux shifted, rolling over to face Poe. He seemed wary but curious; yet most striking to Poe was how comfortable he seemed. There was little to distinguish Hux in mannerism between Poe conversing with him fully dressed, and Hux post-coital and naked in his bed.

And it was a small bed, too; they laid very close, side by side. So near, Poe could see the clear green of his eyes, irises circled by a dark, stormy-coloured ring. _A pretty face_ , he thought to himself. _Too pretty for war_. But ah, didn't everyone used to say that about Poe himself, when they thought he was out of earshot?

“Like what you see, Dameron?” Hux asked. There was something of a self-deprecating smirk on his lips, yet it seemed like a genuine question.

“Very much,” Poe replied. He didn't know why he said it, besides the fact it was true. He brushed some of Hux's hair back from his forehead. “Especially the longer I look.”

Hux's mouth twisted, slightly. “You know, you are exactly what your file said you'd be.”

Poe grinned. “You studied my file?”

“Of course.”

“Aw,” Poe said.

“Only because it was mostly pictures.”

“Oh, good.”

“I do wonder why you're not rushing to go back out and join the celebration,” Hux said. It was phrased like a statement, but Poe heard the question.

Poe shrugged, propping himself up on one elbow and gazing down at Hux. “Because I like it in here,” he said.

“You'll receive far more adulation out there.”

Poe smothered his grin. He could have told Hux that he preferred it there, with him; that adulation was fine but at that moment what comforted him, what he was enjoying, was this odd feeling of being with someone who didn't care that he had helped to save the day. With Hux he felt more like himself than he had in awhile – just another soldier going through the motions.

“I thought I told you to call me Poe,” he said, instead.

Hux gave him a curious look. “I thought it was more an invitation than a request.”

It had been an invitation. “And?”

“And I refrained.”

“Well,” Poe said. “That's fair. But as a reminder I _a_ _m_ the acting General – the very top of all military command on this entire base – and when I make a request, it's actually an order.”

Hux, for _some fucking reason_ , actually smiled. “Very well,” he said. “Poe.”

It sounded good, when Hux said it. “We might as well drop the formalities, anyway,” he said, trying to ignore the way his stomach clenched. “Everything else aside, you're technically the only one on this base of equal rank with me right now, besides Finn.”

“I think as a deserter I no longer hold rank.”

Poe shook his head. “That has nothing to do with it. You've earned it in your own way.”

That acknowledgement – that he was still due respect, not by anything he had personally done for Poe but as two equals in war – somehow made Hux pause, as if he were startled into silence. For a moment it was as if the other man wasn't thinking – somehow _couldn’t_ think, and that in itself was such an aberration for Hux that Poe saw it on his face plain as day.

“Well,” Hux said, recovering quickly. “You're still not going to attempt to call me anything other than _Hux_ , are you?”

“You really hate your first name that much, huh?”

“It's horrid.”

“It was definitely a choice,” Poe laughed.

“My father picked it when he still thought I was a worthwhile investment,” Hux said. “That wore off fast. Of course by then it was too late to un-adopt me.”

It didn’t surprise Poe to learn that Brendol Hux thought of his own child in terms of value, or lack thereof. “When did he change his mind?”

“Not sure. But apparently it was because I cried too much.”

“Kriff. So like, what? When you were four? Five?”

“You mean in months? Probably.”

“I honestly can’t tell if you’re joking with me or not,” Poe said. Hux didn’t bother to confirm or deny it, just smiled, and Poe had a feeling it was the truth – spun in a morbid, twisted way. The files Poe had read on him and his father certainly backed the statements up, but it was the humour that really caught his attention.

“We could give you a new first name,” Poe replied, jokingly.

He expected Hux to parry back with a tease of his own, but instead he surprised him. “I heard you named Finn,” he said. “Is that true?”

Poe was taken aback. “Yeah.”

“Ah.”

That _ah_ was loaded, but Poe didn't have the energy to make Hux unpack it. Poe was not someone who could easily hide his feelings; he was pretty sure the whole base knew how he felt about Finn by that point, so he should not have been surprised that Hux had picked up on it as well.

After a moment Hux shifted, turning away and running his fingers through his hair; if he was trying to tame it, he failed. “Do you want another drink?” he asked.

“Yeah, I can-”

“I'll get it.”

Poe was about to insist but then he realized this meant he could just sit back and watch, so he did just that. He stretched out more comfortably on his bed, propping the pillows up so he could sit up against the headboard. “No, don't bother,” he said, when Hux made to reach for his discarded pants. “I'm just going to have to take them off again.”

Hux shot him an amused look. “You're confident,” he said.

“You looked like you enjoyed it the first time. Why not a second?”

Hux rolled his eyes but he didn't disagree – and, as expected, he didn't seem particularly embarrassed to be naked. Certainly after he had climbed the ranks for some time he had lived mostly alone, as Poe had done, but he'd likely grown up in military-style dorms all the same. “Try not to stare,” was all Hux said, as he got out of the bed and went to retrieve the whisky and their abandoned glasses.

Poe did no such thing, just sat back and enjoyed the view. Hux was lean but also delicate; _legs for days_ , he might have said, had they met in a bar and not on the battlefield.

When Hux returned he refilled their glasses, set the bottle on the side table, and climbed back into the bed. It took a moment for them to sort themselves out – small mattress, Hux's long limbs, Poe's bulk – but they managed. Hux laid against Poe, propping his head back on Poe's shoulder, and handed him his glass. Poe wrapped his free arm around Hux's torso, grazing his fingertips for a moment over the other man's chest.

“So,” Hux said, once they were settled again. He shifted a little, produced a tiny _ah_ when Poe, unable to help himself, scraped the edge of his thumbnail against one of Hux's nipples.

“Sorry,” Poe murmured, not sorry at all. “You were saying?”

Hux glanced up at him, a mixture of annoyance and amusement in his eyes. Poe wondered if he was about to be scolded. “How does it feel to win?”

It was a real question, one that had Poe mulling it over. He had a lot of feelings over what had happened, but he hadn't really thought about it – nothing more than snatches of realization that were constantly being ferried away in the rush of the moment. But he knew the answer, he realized, without needing to dig. He'd always known.

“It's victory. It's _real_ victory,” he said. Hux hummed in understanding, agreement. “But I know it's not the end. I know this isn't the last battle, not by a long shot. There could be more war – civil war, depending on who tries to grab power. And there could be the New Republic trying to put everything back the way it was and make the same mistakes all over again.”

“Or,” Hux supplied, his voice a soft murmur – soft enough that Poe understood it was an attempt at comfort, and that Hux would not appreciate if he read into it too much. “You can start anew.”

Poe sipped his whisky. “Just feels like a long enough war already,” he mused. “I just don't know if I have the strength to keep going.”

Poe couldn’t see Hux's face – he'd turned back to Poe's chest – but his voice was curious. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Why, are you going to tell everyone?” Poe asked.

Hux looked up at him and gave him a small smirk, as if to wordlessly agree that no one would pay much attention to what Hux might say, anyway. Poe felt the ghost of the other man's teeth on his neck and wondered if a bruise would form soon.

Poe downed the rest of his whisky – this time the burn was easier to handle, now that he expected it – and reached over Hux, placing the empty glass on the side table. As if taking his cue, Hux did the same. Wordlessly they both shimmied a bit further down the bed, rearranging themselves; Hux rolled onto his stomach so he could settle with his arms folded on Poe's chest, propping his chin on the back of his wrists as he gazed up at Poe. It was a very companionable sort of position. Hux apparently didn't _snuggle_ , not really, but whatever it was he was doing, Poe liked it.

“You'll make it,” he said. “You made it this far.”

Poe felt momentarily robbed of speech, looking down at Hux, hair mussed from Poe's own ministrations, lips still a bit swollen from being so enthusiastically kissed. But the cool, unperturbed General was there as well, as cold as the Cold War had been before everything had turned on its head. Poe recognized that that coolness was part of Hux's strength, and that he had lost it somewhere along the way between Starkiller Base and Kylo Ren's ascension to Supreme Leader. The First Order, whether it knew it or not, had shattered whatever chance it had of succeeding when it had shattered General Hux in Kylo Ren's bid for power.

And Hux, whether he cared to admit it to himself or not, was one of the main reasons Poe's X-wing had limped back to Ajan Kloss at all. The reason he still had Finn, and Rey, and Rose, and everyone else who was out there in the warren of their base right now celebrating into the night. There were still stories Poe did not know – what exactly had happened on the _Falcon_ , and on Exegol, and all across the galaxy – but he knew he would learn in time. Hux's thread of the story, though, was more interesting to him with each passing second.

“It can be your victory too, Hux,” Poe said. “There's nothing to stop you from having it.”

Hux's mouth twisted, as if Poe's optimism was a silly, fragile thing. “I abandoned my cause,” he said. “Remember?”

“Why did you?”

“Because Kylo Ren made me see that it was lost.” Hux let his gaze travel over Poe's shoulder, rather than meet his eyes. He seemed confused, for a moment, like he had forgotten where he was; like he hadn't actually meant to answer Poe's question. “But to be fair, it was lost a long time ago. I should have seen it earlier. Instead,” he said, with a flash of his teeth, as if he could grin away his pain, “I'm a fool that sold my soul to the First Order, and there's no getting it back.”

“Of course you can.”

Hux looked like he was about to laugh; maybe he refrained because he didn't want to upset Poe, rock the boat of this new, comfortable thing between them. “I made my choices,” he said.

“You saved us.”

“You were my only ride off of that ship,” Hux said, dismissively, though there was a tension in his mouth that told Poe he was being evasive.

Even though he shouldn't have, Poe felt defensive – angry on Hux's behalf. What difference was there between the two of them, really, besides the accidents of their birth? Poe the son of war heroes, Hux as his father's unwanted legacy. What made Poe a better man, if at all?

But to say all of that now would be to allow the words to fall on deaf ears. Hux was in a complicated spot – he had not won or lost but had simply _survived_ , was attempting to make sense of his life in a way he never had been able to before. Whatever Poe might say to Hux, he doubted the other man would truly hear him.

So he kissed him instead – touching the back of Hux's head to nudge him upwards. This kiss was different from before, slow and careful and languid. They had time to enjoy this moment, however way they could. And despite Hux's insistence that he had rescued them and given them back the _Falcon_ as a way to save his own skin, and that Poe was reading into it, he wasn't fooled. Hux could speak whatever lies he wanted but when Poe was kissing him there was no way to deceive him, no way he could continue to hide the fact that there was something desperate and broken inside of him, no way Poe could believe that there wasn't a living, beating heart contained inside of Hux that could compare to Poe's own.

 _I can put you back together_ , Poe thought as they kissed, and as Hux sighed gently against his mouth. _It might take some time, but I could_.

“Poe,” Hux murmured. “You should sleep now, while you can.”

Poe gently touched his hand down along Hux's back, stroking at his spine, watched the way the other man arched thoughtlessly into the contact. “Later,” he said.

Hux was right; when the night finally passed and dawn broke, even if no one else was ready, Poe himself would have to be. Someone would need to lead them all on a new path to a new beginning, even if that meant burying himself in the details of clean-up and healing and rebuilding. They both knew that was Poe's new responsibility, though he was starting to wonder now if he might like some company while he did it. Something to think about later, perhaps in the light of day.

For now though there was the night rolling in, and the laughter and shouting from outside was a pleasant, distant echo that made Poe feel even more secure in this cocoon he had created with Hux. This quiet place, where their lips and hands and bodies met, held in its centre a moment of tranquillity. Here, for now, was enough.


End file.
